


AC2014 [19]: Rum Pickled Brain Cells

by twotenths



Series: F1 Advent Challenge 2014 [16]
Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Advent Challenge 2014, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2014-12-20
Packaged: 2018-03-02 13:09:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2813108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twotenths/pseuds/twotenths
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Felipe is hungover, Rob takes delight in making him suffer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	AC2014 [19]: Rum Pickled Brain Cells

**Author's Note:**

> Elyndys made me do it! Inspired by a twitter conversation.

Felipe woke up abruptly, with a splitting headache and a mouth that tasted like a dead rat. He blinked groggily a few times, rolling his dry tongue around his mouth, wondering why he was awake when he felt like death.

“GOOD MORNING SUNSHINE!”

Felipe flopped around helplessly on the bed until he found the source of the racket. Rob stood over him, grinning broadly, wearing a pair of sunglasses and brandishing a frying pan.

“About time you got up, isn’t it?” Rob asked cheerfully and far _far_ too loudly.

“Grrhmmwayyy,” Felipe groaned, burrowing further under the duvet, and clutching at his head.

“Overdid it yesterday, did you?”

Felipe briefly recalled passing a bottle of rum around with his mechanics at the Williams Christmas party. Maybe two bottles of rum. And a bit of vodka. He shoved his head under a pillow.

“No, absolutely not!” said Rob, pulling the duvet off him and throwing it across the room, “I’ve let you sleep for too long already!”

Felipe shivered at the sudden loss of his bedding and protested incoherently.

“Oh, Felipe?”

He lifted up the edge of the pillow and peered out blearily. “Mmmm?”

Rob swung the frying pan at the bed frame, filling the room with the cacophonous sound of metal on metal that made Felipe cringe and moan. Rob laughed loudly as he left the room, shutting the door a little more hard than strictly necessary.

***

_“Rob! Come over here!”_

_Rob quirked an eyebrow at the diminutive Brazilian half sprawled across the bar, swigging from a bottle of rum, which he passed onto his front jack man with a raucous laugh. He wandered over and joined the group, and Felipe slung an arm across his shoulder._

_“You want a drink?” he asked._

_“Sure, get me a coke?”_

_Felipe snorted. “A coke? Is a_ party _Rob! God, you are such an old man now!”_

_Rob just smiled, as the mechanics joined in with the cheering. “I’m an old man who knows when he’s drunk enough. Unlike you; an old man who has never learnt!”_

_Felipe shoved a glass of fizzy drink across the bar at Rob with a grin, “Ah, you are no fun, go and be boring!”_

_Rob laughed as he went to find another sensible adult, allowing Felipe to concoct himself a hideous hangover._

_***_

Felipe melted onto a kitchen chair, resting his head on the table.

“Ah you’re finally up!” Rob commented gleefully, dancing around the kitchen to some terrible song on the battered old radio on the windowsill. Felipe felt he was deliberately making too much noise with the pots and pans and enjoying his hangover far too much.

“Why are you so happy?” he grumbled into the wood of the kitchen table. “And why are you wearing sunglasses?”

“Pinched them off your head this morning, didn’t I? You great daft berk.  And I’m happy because it’s a beautiful day,  the sun is shining, the birds are singing, and I didn’t pickle my brain cells in rum last night,” he grinned, still bopping around the kitchen table with a frying pan, “Unlike you.”

Felipe whimpered as he set the pan down on the table next to his head. “Why are you punishing me?”

Rob leant down, propping his chin in his hands, elbows on the table. “I seem to remember some cheeky fuck calling me a boring old man last night. Payback!” he crowed victoriously, dancing over to the fridge. “I’m making pancakes, want some?”

Felipe nodded wearily, letting his head roll to one side so he could watch Rob cook, humming tunelessly and nodding his head along to the music, still wearing the sunglasses and looking utterly daft. He struck up a running commentary on his cooking, littered with expletives (which, he had said, was a satire of some guy called Gordon Ramsey), making an utter hash of flipping pancakes, more than half of them ending up on the floor.

He was an irritating idiot, infuriatingly un-hungover and a rubbish pancake flipper, but all was forgiven when he slid a plate underneath Felipe’s nose, smothered in chocolate sauce, with a whipped cream smiley face drawn on top.


End file.
